


Six Christmas-inspired Drabbles for 2015

by unbelievable2



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, M/M, The Sentinel Secret Santa 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:51:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5917879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbelievable2/pseuds/unbelievable2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1. Jim finds that enjoying carols depends on the carollers</p><p>2. Blair is far away, but home seems near.</p><p>3.  Plenty to choose from….</p><p>4. The Solstice marks a change in direction  </p><p>5. There are hidden meanings in Blair’s wreath</p><p>6. Things look different by candlelight</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Christmas-inspired Drabbles for 2015

**Author's Note:**

> Six under-500-word drabbles for the lovely TS Secret Santa challenge on LJ. 1 is pre-slash, 2 and 5 are probably gen but you could easily read them as pre-slash, 3 and 4 are definitely gen, 6 is pre-slash/slash, depending on your viewpoint. Sorry to be complicated!

**"Other Voices"**  
**Prompt: carols/carolling**

Wherever he went there was noise; canned Bing Crosby, pinging cash tills, charity collections on the street, the PD choir – dear God, didn’t they have some crime to solve? – carolling merrily through the corridors and rattling tins for donations. Jim couldn’t tune out the cacophony. There was a problem; his senses were up and they wouldn’t go back down.

He was not having a good day.

He knew he was coming over as a bad-tempered asshole, and snarling at everyone who crossed his path, especially those wearing festive sweaters or cheery slogans on their tee-shirts. It was all he could do not to punch the ones wearing foam-rubber antlers right on the nose. But he couldn’t take much more of this.

He’d tried the street, he’d tried the Department – and there was no respite. He grabbed his jacket in a sudden move of frustration and, shouting to Simon, “I’m out of here for the day!”, he stomped through the crowded bullpen, wincing at the unrelenting noise, and made his way to the garage. In the cab of the truck he was relatively cocooned, and he swerved his way out of the city as fast as he could go, until the merry roistering had faded to a muted murmur and eventually… it was gone.

By then he was up in the foothills, and the evening was closing in. It had been a dull day - no sun to cheer and no snow to make a festive contribution - and the dusk came quickly. He parked on a promontory overlooking a wooded valley and got out, taking great breaths of forest air and feeling the tension drain away. His dials dropped down.

No Sandburg, that was the problem. Going off on a national crime symposium was all very well for the PD but it created havoc with their home life, and disrupted senses were the end result. That he missed the guy, missed him painfully, was another element that he needed to talk to Sandburg about – finally - once he got back. Not long now.

He looked at his phone. Nah, Blair’d just be going into the fourth day of the lectures right now, DC-time. No point in calling. He put the phone away and stared out again into the gentle greyness of the encroaching evening.

Here and there, birds were calling; little snatches of sub-song, short bursts of contact calls and statements of “I’m still here, this is my territory”. None of it was strident, just a steady proclamation of life continuing. These were the carols that gave Jim true joy. With eyes shut and a half-smile, he kept breathing deeply and listening to the voices until the carollers themselves went to sleep, and it was night.  
_fin_

**“Air Mail”**  
**Prompt: Present-wrapping**

Blair switched on all the lights in the hotel room, but it still didn’t make much of a difference to the gloom. Low wattage again - the power was being cut back. He hauled a small bamboo table across the room so that it was positioned underneath the strongest bulb of the lot and began to organise himself. He unfolded the brightly coloured paper from the bazaar; there hadn’t been a Christmassy pattern anywhere that he could find, but he hoped this would be sufficiently cheerful. There was dyed raffia as well in reds and oranges.  
The flight was tomorrow and, if all the connections worked, he’d be landing in Cascade at 5pm on Christmas Eve. All his presents needed to be packed and ready for when he got back, and they had to go in his luggage, too. Consequently, none of them was that large, but he hoped they counted.  
There was a beaded necklace for Megan, and a book about the islands for Joel (who was turning into a real armchair anthropologist), plus a few more knick-knacks for the team. For Simon, there was some real, honest-to-God java – actually from Java. But his greatest delight was in what he had found for Jim.  
He thought back to the early days of living in the Loft with a smile. His first Christmas with Jim, it had been difficult to know what to do; present-giving or no present-giving? What was the etiquette? After much worry, he’d presented Jim with a six-pack of small bottles from a local micro-brewery, and a woven leather wallet he’d found in one of Cascade’s ethnic trading stores. He had been secretly bowled away by Jim’s clear pleasure in the gifts – not just for the things themselves but, Blair suspected, because someone had thought to give him something. And Blair worked this out because it had been just what he’d felt, when he’d opened that first soft parcel and found a mohair sweater and a scarf. He’d smiled until his jaw ached, while Jim just mumbled something about “…otherwise you’re just going to gripe about the cold every stake-out we got to…” Blair smiled widely now, remembering. And as for that little wallet, Blair knew that Jim carried it to this day.  
Jim’s gifts this year, small as they were, reflected Blair’s sense of home. He’d picked up a fold of intricately-woven cloth, musing it would be a beautiful table runner in the Loft. The colours were muted browns and greens, very organic and restful. Already wrapped in some protective newspaper was a small brass lantern that could be hung at a window, and in a small cloth bag was a delicate carving of a big cat – a leopard around here rather than a jaguar, he knew, but still….  
All packed, he zipped up his bag. Special assignments abroad had been all very well for the younger Blair, but the Blair of today needed to get home.  
_fin_

 **“Multiple Choice”**  
**Prompt: Present-shopping hell**  
“This one?”  
“No.”  
“Whaddaya mean, _no_? It’s nice.”  
“Nice? You kidding me? It’s a monstrosity.”  
“It would keep him warm, that’s the point.”  
“No, the point is, actually, no-one wants to be made a laughing stock.”  
“That’s a bit harsh, you know. I’ve got one just like…”  
“I rest my case.”  
“Oh, so you’re a fashion guru now, are you? I’ll have you know….”  
“What about this one? This is more suitable.”  
“You’re kidding me, right? That’s suitable? For what, the next funeral he goes to?”  
“It’s smart.”  
“Yeah, well, and it’d better not rain. And where do we live again? Oh, yeah…”  
“Okay, okay. But the Grizzly Adams thing? Just no, okay?”  
“Maybe a hat’s too difficult. Too subjective.”  
“Yeah, just what I was thinking, subjective hats…”  
“Jeeez, you’re in a mood today!”  
“Yeah, well, I’m participating in my least favourite activity.”  
“ _This_ is your least favourite? I thought it was…”  
“Yeah, well, now it’s this.”  
“But half an hour ago you said…”  
“It’s my least favourite at this very minute, at this precise time of the year, okay? Now, can we move forward? Before my retirement plan kicks in?”  
“Okay, okay. What about a scarf? Pretty safe ground there, agreed?”  
“Agreed. Hallelujah.”  
“Right, scarves are over here. Come _on_! Now, this is nice. Great colours.”  
“Too bright.”  
“It’s winter! He needs something to lift his spirits!”  
“Trust me, suggesting he should parade around in orange and pink stripes won’t get that reaction. Are you sure these are for men?”  
“See that sign? Plus, they’re made in this little co-operative near Lima. The colours are traditional….”  
“And they are _Too Bright_! Allow the man some dignity! Look… look, this is a good one. How about this one?”  
“It’s grey.”  
“Yeah, but it’s warm and … practical.”  
“It’s _Grey_. I refuse to give him something the colour of ashes.”  
“Okay, okay. Look, there’s this one. Navy, very smart. Non-confrontational, and good value, too.”  
“Cheap, you mean. Look at the label. This scarf is made by sweated labour. Nope, not goin’ anywhere near that.”  
“This is a mall, not the UN!”  
“And Christmas isn’t a time for principles? Look, why don’t we go for a different variety? A scarf for formal wear, for all those boring functions he has to go to?”  
“Yeah, okay, why not?”  
“See, this is nice. No, this is _lovely_. It’s a silk mix, you can just feel… Hey, tell me what you can fee..”  
“ _Back off!_ ”  
“Okay, okay! Wow, tetchy, or what? So, this is a good compromise, yeah?”  
“At this price? You gotta be kidding me.”  
“He’s your friend, a really good friend! Doesn’t he deserve the best?”  
“He’s a grown man. He can buy his own silk scarves.”  
“Okay, okay. So… beer, like last year?”  
“Works for me.”  
“Yippee! Finally, we have lift-off! Number One is off the list! Now, Number Two…”  
“Shoot me now.”  
_fin_

**“New Start”**  
**Prompt: Solstice**

When Jim came downstairs he found Blair standing at the big window looking out at the dawn. His friend was very still, and didn’t turn round to acknowledge him, as would have habitually been the case. There was something about his stillness that made Jim refrain from a quip, and go to stand by Blair to wait for whatever it was.  
It was a lovely sight – the dawn breaking over the city. The red-orange light illuminated them both. Blair seemed deep in thought, a slight frown on his brow. Then he spoke.  
“It’s the winter solstice.”  
Jim waited for something more profound, and when it wasn’t forthcoming he thought he should add something.  
“Ah, yeah, so it is. The longest night, then the days start to get longer.” He nudged Blair “As if our days could get much longer, huh?”  
The ghost of a smile flitted over Blair’s mouth.  
“It’s more than that. Did you know, the word refers to the sun standing still. It’s to do with the astronomical position of the Sun relative to Earth. It’s the point that the sun stops going downwards, shortening our days because it sets so early, and kind of reverses so that it starts rising higher above the horizon, giving us shorter nights.” He gave Jim a sideways look. “It’s only what it looks like to us, though. It doesn’t actually happen.”  
“Yadda, yadda,” said Jim, grinning. Blair gave him a wry smile.  
“Yeah, yadda yadda. You knew, didn’t you?”  
Jim shrugged.  
“Yeah, but it always sounds more fun when you explain it. That’s why you’re a great teacher.”  
He stopped short ; he could have bitten off his tongue. Blair was no longer that teacher; he was something else entirely now. Blair however seemed nonplussed.  
“It’s interesting,” he continued, still gazing out of the window, “because so many cultures, especially in the northern latitudes, regard this switching point as so significant. It’s the start of the worst of the winter, sure, but it’s also the time for a kind of rebirth. A new path for the Sun, and a new path for the world as well.”  
Jim glanced down and saw Blair’s detective badge glinting at his belt. It was Blair’s first day as a fully-qualified member of Major Crimes, and Jim’s full-time partner. So this was new start for them both, but a new path for Blair especially.  
Blair saw his glance and smiled.  
“It couldn’t happen on a better day, man.”  
“You’re sure?” Jim had asked that question so many times over the months. He still worried.  
“It’s a new life,” replied Blair. “It’s the life I want.”  
They watched the sun rise on their new world.  
_fin_

**"Hidden meanings"**  
**Prompt: Wreath**

Blair regarded the items he had assembled on the table and smiled to himself. There was plenty there to create the magnificent wreath he intended to hang on the central pillar in the Loft. Okay, so generally a wreath would go on the outer door, but he wanted this one to stay inside, a focal point in their decorations.  
He twisted long, whippy hazel twigs into a circle, plaiting them together as he went; one, two, three, four strands, weaving in and out, creating a light and simple base for the wreath. It was work that needed real concentration and dexterity, and he didn’t find the hazel easy to handle, but eventually the circle was complete.  
Next, there were long strands of ivy that he’d gone back to Rainier to collect, sneaking around the side of Hargrove Hall to clip tresses from the walls. These now got threaded through the hazel framework, and the glossy green against the shining wood was an uplifting sight. The leaves were broad and filled out the wreath pleasingly. In amongst them, fastened to the hazel twigs with wire, went ten gold baubles in the shape of stars – these, for Blair, stood for the gold of the PD detective’s badge. They shone richly in amongst the green.  
Some little figurines, purchased at a local ethnic trading store, sat on the table. They represented stock peasant types from South America, and were dressed in bright pinks and oranges. A couple of alpacas were in the mix as well. Okay, so not entirely typical of the area of Peru that Jim knew, but the thought was there. These were attached to yet more sprigs of wire and carefully fixed to the hazel, so the little people peeked out through the leaves. Some unexpected fauna also put in an appearance; a black jaguar and a wolf, tiny plastic models picked up from a Noah’s ark display in a toy store. Blair grinned broadly as he added all these incongruous little ornaments.  
That task done, he considered his handiwork, nodded to himself, and picked up the first of five large scarlet baubles, one for every year that he had known Jim. Each bauble was carefully woven into the wreath, and the colour stood out splendidly against the green and gold. When he was happy with them, he turned the wreath over and added a twist of wire at the back, then lifted the whole thing off the table and carried it to the pillar, where a small hook was already waiting.  
He stepped back. The wreath looked huge on the narrow pillar, and maybe it was a little lopsided but, overall, Blair was happy with the effect. It was _their_ Christmas wreath, a unique artwork, and a thank you, written in his own private code, for the richness of the life he now had.

_fin_

**"Flicker"**  
**Prompt: Candles**

Driving back home towards his neighbourhood, the complete absence of lighting was an eerie sight, like everyone had packed up and left. It was oddly reassuring to tramp into the lobby of his building and find the cardboard sign, written in wobbly letters by the janitor.  
_‘Power out. Not my fault. Power Co dealing.’_  
He trudged up the stairs, and met Blair just coming off the floor below theirs. He was carrying a flashlight.  
“Oh hey, man. Guess you don’t need me to light your way?”  
“What’s going on, Sandburg?”  
“All this block and the next three are out,” replied Blair, already making his way up the last flight ahead of Jim. “Some contractor working overtime cut through a power main. It’s been out for a couple of hours and the power company say it’ll be a while yet. Was just making sure the Johannsens and the Fullers were okay for food and were warm enough. Christmas week isn’t a good time to be running out of food and fuel. Unless you’re in a carol, of course…””  
Jim grunted his approval, but couldn’t help a smile, one that Blair couldn’t see. How like the guy to make looking after the building’s more elderly residents his priority. But what Blair had said raised an issue.  
“So, how are _we_ keeping warm and fed?”  
“Relax, man. I went out and got Chinese and it’s all waiting for you, nice and hot.”  
He fumbled with the lock of the apartment and a moment later they were walking through the door. Jim stopped dead and looked around in wonder. There were candles on just about every surface in the Loft. The nuances of shadow and flame took his breath away. He was used to Blair’s meditation candles, but this was something else; this was…  
“Is this a ceremony?”  
“No, you asshole! I just wanted lots of light, and luckily I’ve got lots of candles. Plus everything looks real nice like this.”  
_Real nice_ , thought Jim, was an understatement; it was beautiful, transforming, magical.  
“Come on! Coat off, wash up! Food’s ready.”  
Blair pushed him towards the bathroom, and when he came out again Blair was sitting on the floor by the coffee table, on which the tin trays were spread out on hotplates lit by tea-lights. Jim sat down on a cushion as well, and stared at the hotplates.  
“Aren’t they…”  
“A left-behind wedding present? Blair was grinning. “See, there is a use for them, after all!”  
Jim nodded. He and Caro had never sat crossed-legged on cushions to eat Chinese by candlelight. Blair was busily ladling out food for him.  
“Here, man, you must be starved.” He looked up at Jim as he passed the plate over and smiled; a special smile. His face was all flame and shadow, and the candles flickered with unspoken words.  
_Oh my God_ , thought Jim, and gazed at him all through the meal, while his rice congealed and the little tea-lights melted way like a Cascade snowfall.  
_fin_


End file.
